


Red Bean Brioche with Cold Brew

by mnabokov



Series: 176° Centigrade (世界) [2]
Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Dom/sub Undertones, Drama & Romance, Heavy Drinking, M/M, Office Sex, Power Dynamics, Rough Sex, Very rough sex, lots of shots, more baking, shots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-22
Updated: 2018-08-22
Packaged: 2019-07-01 04:05:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15766239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mnabokov/pseuds/mnabokov
Summary: Here it is, a convergence of every aspect of Jongin’s life: work and leisure; his past decisions and his future decisions; ballet-dancing and baking pastries; maintaining control and giving into the temptation that is Oh Sehun.





	Red Bean Brioche with Cold Brew

“This might actually work.”  
  
“Are you serious? You’re telling me you don’t know if it’ll work _now_?”  
  
Soy milk, matcha powder, tapioca powder, cane sugar, and a dribble of honey mix slowly in a small pot as Sehun reads off his iPhone.  
  
“Yeah, this might work,” he repeats again, scrolling intently.  
  
Minseok rolls his eyes. “I just want to eat them.” Minseok’s on leave, and has decided to grace South Korea with his presence, which is normally in China for most of the year for work.  
  
“Anyway,” Luhan interrupts, “As I was saying -- you remember the night you left last time, like two months ago? We went to EXO and got wasted?”  
  
“No,” Minseok shamelessly dips his finger into the sauce and tastes it. “All I remember was the terrible hangover.”  
  
Sehun pours the thickened sauce into a plastic ice tray, and puts the tray into the fridge. “Because you ordered those disgusting shots,” Sehun interjects. “They were neon!”  
  
“They weren’t that bad,” Minseok sniffs dismissively, “And I had other stuff to drink too.”  
  
Luhan chimes in. “Yeah, hot pink martinis. You literally had margarita salt on your face the entire fucking night.”  
  
Luhan and Minseok have strong-armed their way into Sehun’s kitchen, watching Sehun bake a second batch of muffins. He’s already finished lemon poppy ones, which are sitting out of reach on the counter, perfectly shaped and delicious; but he wants to try this matcha lava. He adds coconut milk, salt, and sugar to the muffin dough and stirs until the mixture turns sticky.  
  
“ _Anyway,”_ continues Luhan aggressively, “The point is, Sehun went home with this super hot guy.”  
  
“I remember, with the nice face and massive dick,” Minseok nods eagerly, like an over-attentive student. Sehun can’t determine if he’s feeling proud or terrified at this gross overstepping of boundaries. He mostly feels proud, but he lets out a token protest, which no one acknowledges: “Will you ever refer to him as anything other than a body part?”  
  
“Right, anyway, so then he goes to his job the next day -- remember I was telling you about it? How he interviewed and the whole thing took five years -- ”  
  
“Four months,” Sehun mumbles. He plops the muffin dough into molds.  
  
With glee and far too much schadenfreude, Luhan says dramatically, “And the guy is Sehun’s _boss.”_  
  
“Oh my God,” Minseok’s jaw drops.  
  
“I know right, and so they go on and have crazy hot office sex, then Jongin’s boss -- ”  
  
“Not his boss,” Sehun interjects.  
  
Minseok frowns. “He has a boss? I thought he _was_ the boss.”  
  
“He’s the department head,” Luhan says patiently, and it really says something about the amount of investment that Luhan’s put into Sehun’s love life that Luhan’s the one explaining this -- rather accurately, actually -- instead of Sehun. “His dad’s the CEO, but we’re pretty sure he’ll be CEO in, like, the next five years when his dad retires -- anyway, one of his dad’s advisors comes in and talks to him -- ”  
  
“Heechul,” Sehun supplies helpfully.  
  
“Heechul comes in and gets all upset, and so now Sehun’s switching departments, but he threatened to _fire_ Sehun -- ”  
  
“He didn’t threaten to fire me,” Sehun protests. “Heechul’s not _wrong_ , he just cares for Jongin.”  
  
Minseok’s way too into this, and Luhan too. Sehun guesses that it means they care too. “It’s just like a Chinese drama,” Minseok confides.  
  
Sehun takes the now-frozen cubes of matcha milk from the fridge, pops them out of their plastic encasing, and inserts one into each muffin. Hopefully, when the muffins bake (176 degrees Celsius for 30 minutes, if you were wondering), the frozen matcha squares will melt, and upon cutting a muffin in half, ooze out like matcha lava. “It’s not a drama,” Sehun scowls, shutting the oven door with a little more force than necessary, “It’s my life.”  
  
Because he’s a good friend, he gives Minseok and Luhan some muffins anyway.  
  
  
  
\---  
  
  
  
There’s a beautiful box of muffins on Jongin’s desk. The white bakery box is tied with a thick purple ribbon, signed with neat initials in the corner, barely noticeable.  
  
Sehun must be spending too much time at Paris Baguette and Caffe Bene and cute bakeries like that, because this looks store-bought: the ribbon is carefully wrapped, and overlaid on the purple ribbon is thin twine. Delicate and deliberate. Each muffin is in its own brown wrapping paper; half are matcha-flavored, topped with almonds, and the other half sprinkled with poppy seeds. Jongin snaps a picture and sends it to Sehun with the heart emoji.  
  
Yeseul stops by later that afternoon, and Jongin politely offers her a muffin as well, but doesn’t mention that they’re from her newest transfer.  
  
“You know,” she says conversationally, when they’ve finished walking through some paperwork, “Sehun’s very good. Better than I expected.”  
  
“He was my assistant, I know.”  
  
“I’m shocked you let him go.” She peels the wrapping off of her muffin delicately.  
  
Jongin grunts noncommittally, shuffling his papers.  
  
“It was your father that made you, wasn’t it,” Yeseul lowers his voice, “It’s alright you know, just please him for now. I mean -- there’s talk of him retiring soon.”  
  
“I don’t want the company,” Jongin looks up shocked, but doesn’t correct Yeseul, “And I respect his decisions. I -- ”  
  
Yeseul gives him a look and Jongin wisely falls silent. “Anyway, I know you have another project coming up, and we have a corporate event next month -- ”  
  
“What event?”  
  
“Did you forget?” Yeseul frowns at him. “We rented the convention center next month to celebrate the company’s thirty-year anniversary. Our departments will be working together, accordingly. As I was saying, I talked to Junmyeon and he also thinks it’d be good if Sehun came back for a bit to assist with budgeting.”  
  
Jongin bites his lip. “Fine,” he says, but his stomach churns uncomfortably.  
  
“These muffins are delicious,” she declares, biting into one.  
  
Jongin can't help his answering grin. “I know.”  
  
The anniversary celebration is less than three weeks away, Jongin reasons. The only person who really knows about him and Sehun is Heechul, and Heechul’s sure not to be blabbering about anything anytime soon. How bad could it be? he muses.  
  
  
  
This is the absolute worst.  
  
They’re in the shared conference room, and as Jongin presses his fingers to his temples, he remembers why, exactly, they don’t have department meetings.  
  
Jongin’s employees respect him, perhaps more than they should -- Jongin’s still young and he has much to learn. But he treats them fairly and kindly; he knows them well and likes them as friends. He attends baby showers and birthday celebrations and weddings. In turn, they treat him the same way they would treat even the most senior management levels.  
  
Except when it comes to events where they get to channel their creativity, e.g. right now, instead of the usual, boring paperwork.  
  
Firstly, Baekhyun and Kyungsoo are too distracted talking about the venue of the anniversary party: “The convention center?” Baekhyun says skeptically, “I think a hotel would be a better choice.” Kyungsoo goes, “Maybe we can rent the ballroom in the exhibition center.” -- to which Jongin tries to say, “The venue’s already been established, so we should discuss logistics instead.”  
  
“For next time,” Baekhyun continues, and Kyungsoo taps away, researching something that won’t be useful for another year.  
  
“Mr. Kim,” Jisoo pipes up politely. “Chaeyoung and I have a few ideas for decorations.”  
  
“Great,” Jongin smiles tightly, “You two can be in charge of that. Work with Sehun for budgeting, and then we can send our orders in next week.”  
  
Chaeyoung’s fingers fly across her laptop and the two girls end up in deep conversation about fairy lights and ambiance or something.  
  
“Baekhyun and I can speak to the convention center,” Kyungsoo says. “I think we should go over details for parking and facilities available onsite.”  
  
“Sure,” Jongin says.  
  
Sehun finally speaks up -- “What about catering?”  
  
After avoiding Sehun’s gaze for most of the morning, Jongin reluctantly looks over. “What about it?”  
  
Sehun holds up the packet of papers with event details on it. “This just lists the company that we’re working with, it says nothing about menu or anything.”  
  
Jongin glances around: the others are engrossed in their work. “What’s wrong with that?”  
  
“Food is important.” He meets Jongin’s eyes evenly. “You need to go over the menu.”  
  
“And I suppose you’ll help me with that,” Jongin replies.  
  
Chaeyoung nods enthusiastically. “If anyone knows their food, it’s Sehun.”  
  
“Besides,” Baekhyun adds thoughtfully, “I think the rest of the planning is under control. We can handle it.” Baekhyun, fuck him, probably wants them to try and get along, since he apparently thinks that he and Sehun aren’t capable of having a conversation without it ending in an argument. Which they totally are, by the way.  
  
The rest of them murmur agreements, and by the time Jongin situates himself in the swivel chair next to Sehun, everyone’s deeply absorbed in their work.  
  
“A bruschetta bar,” Sehun begins without further ado, “Kimchi dip, and skewers. I think some sort of shrimp salad would be nice, with quiche.”  
  
“Shrimp salad,” Jongin echoes faintly. “Skewers.” He pulls out his notepad. He doesn’t know how to act; Sehun’s as noncommittal as ever, his poker face unreadable.  
  
“Skewers,” Sehun agrees, taking notes on a blank document, “Maybe melon, with prosciutto and mozzarella.”  
  
“That sounds fine,” Jongin agrees, shifting uncomfortably.  
  
Sehun glances at Jongin briefly before resuming his typing. He seems to take pity, however, and touches his left ankle briefly against Jongin’s calf. His touch is too deliberate to be by accident.  
  
“Fine,” Jongin says again, more firmly. “Tell me about this bruschetta bar.”  
  
Sehun launches into a rather knowledgeable explanation of using cherry tomatoes, garlic, and olive oil to create the perfect antipasto; and Jongin listens attentively, taking notes to ask their food catering partner later. He thinks that everything’s going well until they get to the topic of drinks.  
  
“I was thinking spritzers,” Jongin says, brushing his hair out of his face. He doesn’t look at Sehun. “Or fruit soju.”  
  
“Mimosas,” Sehun says.  
  
Jongin automatically retorts, “What, like one of those lemonade ones you see on Pinterest?”  
  
“Don’t insult Pinterest,” Sehun says swiftly, still tapping away. “What about this?”  
  
Jongin peers at the screen, as Sehun is, indeed, looking through Pinterest. “A rose raspberry sorbet mimosa.” Jongin frowns. “It’s too pink.”  
  
“Rosé,” Sehun corrects. “And it’s fuschia.”  
  
“This isn’t brunch,” Jongin says irritably. He can’t actually tell if Sehun thinks that the sorbet mimosas are a legitimately good idea, or if Sehun just wants to make the department look like idiots.  
  
“And since when did you suddenly become a gourmet aficionado?” Sehun looks up sharply, expression pinched. Jongin can read a note on Sehun’s desktop that lists out: _fruits, olives, Sangria, mimosas, bread basket_.  
  
“I have taste,” Jongin says raising his voice in protest, “And why are we having so much alcohol?”  
  
Sehun says witheringly, “You wanted _soju_.”  
  
“I don’t know,” Jongin retorts, suddenly defensive. “I thought -- ”  
  
“Exactly. Leave it to me.”  
  
“This is a corporate event,” Jongin reminds him.  
  
“It’s a social gathering. People like alcohol. Just because your standards of fun are astonishingly low, doesn’t mean the rest of us can’t enjoy the evening.”  
  
Chaeyoung actually titters.  
  
Belatedly, Jongin realizes how loudly they’ve been arguing. Sehun has the decency to look away and flush, mumbling an apology. Jisoo pretends she wasn’t just watching avidly, and Baekhyun has this exasperated and amused look on his face.  
  
Jongin inwardly groans.  
  
  
  
As his workers trickle out of the office, Sehun has the audacity to enter Jongin’s office -- without knocking, by the way, as usual -- with a revised menu for the catering company.  
  
“Here,” Sehun says abruptly. “Approved by Yeseul, too.”  
  
“Fantastic,” Jongin mutters. He scrubs his face.  
  
Sehun drops the packet onto Jongin’s desk and moves to leave.  
  
“Mr. Kim,” Chaeyoung pops her head into the office, “I’m about to head out. Everyone else is gone, but the files from this morning’s meeting are still in the conference room. Do you want me to -- ”  
  
“It’s fine,” Jongin smiles reassuringly, “I’ll take care of it. Thank you, Chaeyoung. You did well today.”  
  
“Good night,” she says cheerfully to Jongin and Sehun before leaving. The door swings shut behind her.  
  
“Don’t make me look stupid in front of my employees,” Jongin says, half-heartedly when the door clicks shut.  
  
Sehun makes an amused noise. “I didn’t do anything -- you were the one that kept arguing with me.”  
  
“Because you wanted to base our thirty-year anniversary menu off of _Pinterest recipes_.”  
  
“There’s nothing wrong with that,” Sehun narrows his eyes.  
  
Jongin tugs at his necktie to loosen it; Sehun’s eyes track the movement intently.  
  
“You’re terrible, you know that?” Jongin says slowly. Between Sehun switching to a new department and Jongin’s preparations for the onslaught of seemingly never-ending projects, they haven’t had any time to see each other much since before Sehun transferred.  
  
“It’s not my fault you’re so easy to work up,” Sehun sneers, but there’s a pink flush spread down his throat. Jongin wants to chase it with his tongue, see how far the pink paints Sehun’s skin.  
  
“Come here,” Jongin commands, leaning back in his chair.  
  
Sehun’s expression darkens as he walks up to Jongin.  
  
“If you don’t want this,” Jongin says, his body beginning to warm, “Get out.”  
  
Sehun steps closer and Jongin cannot wait; he grabs Sehun by the front of his shirt and pushes him against the desk, pinning him down. He carelessly shoves stray papers off his desk and Sehun’s back hits the flat surface of the desk with a low thump.  
  
Sehun groans when Jongin stands over him. Jongin looks greedily for a second -- Sehun sprawled face up on Jongin’s desk, his white shirt too tight and cock beginning to bulge behind the zipper of his pants.  
  
“Hands over your head,” Jongin instructs. Sehun crosses his arms at the wrists and holds them over his head, his lips parting as he waits.  
  
Jongin brushes two fingers over Sehun’s knee, which bends over the lip of the desk. His fingers skim lightly over Sehun’s thigh, over Sehun’s cock, and up the line of buttons leading up to Sehun’s throat.  
  
Jongin brushes his thumb against Sehun’s pulse. Sehun’s breath hitches. Jongin starts, “Do you want me -- ”  
  
“Yes,” Sehun breathes, looking away.  
  
Jongin leans forward, standing in between Sehun’s legs so that Sehun’s knees bracket Jongin’s waist. Loosely he wraps five fingers around Sehun’s neck.  
  
Sehun whimpers. When Jongin tightens his grip slightly, Sehun moans. Jongin’s cock starts filling out quickly.  
  
Jongin wildly, desperately thinks that it’s not even about the sex anymore; it’s the rush, this heady cocktail of desire, this -- this power play and Jongin is completely head over heels lost.  
  
With a needy whine, Sehun arches up into Jongin’s hand, tossing his head back, spine curving up in this delicious arch and Jongin wants nothing more than to give it to him, hard, like he deserves -- but Jongin asks quickly, “Is this okay?” He flexes the hand holding Sehun’s neck.  
  
“If you ask me whether or not something’s okay one more time,” Sehun says breathless, “That will be the only thing not okay.” When Sehun speaks, his voice vibrates in his throat. Jongin thinks he can feel his blood quicken.  
  
“Bangkok,” Jongin says, “If you want me to stop, say Bangkok.” His blood’s roiling, searing under his skin; Jongin wants to bite fuck mark marr Sehun’s skin, wants to see Sehun on his knees and he can’t believe he’s _allowed --_  
  
“If you don’t fucking bang me with your cock,” Sehun starts snappishly, but then Jongin yanks on Sehun’s hair with his other hand. Sehun shudders, falls silent. Jongin wants to do so much to him.  
  
“ _Rude_ ,” Jongin says, “Rude, Sehun.”  
  
“Sorry,” Sehun says, pitching his voice low, silky; this is it, this is when they slip into their roles, and it’s easy for Sehun to rumble teasingly, “I didn’t mean to be.”  
  
“Yes, you did,” Jongin lets go of Sehun’s hair and smacks him lightly across the cheek, making sure that the blow doesn't sting.  
  
Sehun’s lips part anyway. He lets out this breathy whimper, a choked, guttural kind of sound, like he likes to be hit, like he wants --  
  
“I didn’t mean it, Mr. Kim,” Sehun says, lips curled mockingly, rocking his body upwards now, his throat working around the words: Jongin can feel every syllable, every breath, and his head is _spinning_ with this power.  
  
“You were disrespectful this morning, too,” Jongin adds. He squeezes Sehun’s cock through his pants, too rough and too tight, but Sehun just moans like a first-class escort, like you can’t hire him unless you’re willing to pay hard cash beforehand and wait for two months on a waiting list. “What’s to be done about that?”  
  
Sehun’s cock pulses under Jongin’s left hand; under Jongin’s right hand, Sehun’s throat moves as he swallows. Sehun’s smirk drops when Jongin fondles his crotch unkindly. Sehun whimpers and Jongin squeezes harder.  
  
“I don’t -- I don’t know,” Sehun mewls, softly; and Jongin suddenly feels a pang of doubt.  
  
But he remembers they have a safe word; if they need to, they can stop.  
  
Sehun wriggles a bit while Jongin’s caught stuck frozen in his analysis. And that’s the last of their control gone out the fucking window; they’re in this together and Jongin’s never ever been like this with anyone in bed --  
  
But of course it's always Sehun pushing his boundaries and Jongin’s not going to back down from this challenge.  
  
“You don’t know,” Jongin says lowly.  
  
“Please tell me, I don’t -- I didn’t mean it -- ”  
  
Steely, Jongin says, “I find that hard to believe.”  
  
Sehun swallows. His hands are still crossed above his head.  
  
Jongin steps back abruptly.  
  
“What -- ” Sehun says.  
  
“Two minutes,” Jongin glances at his watch, pretending to be unaffected, ignoring his own throbbing erection. “You have two minutes to take off your clothes, and prep yourself. Then I’m going to fuck you.”  
  
Sehun scrambles to yank off his shirt, shove off his pants. Jongin sits back in his chair and looks his fill as Sehun lays back on the desk -- the surface of the desk must be cold and hard and uncomfortable against Sehun’s bare back, against his bare thighs, but Sehun doesn’t so much as flinch. He sucks on three of his fingers before spreading his legs.  
  
Sehun’s pink flush spreads down his throat, over his shoulders and chest. His legs are pale and Jongin wants to bite the white-blue vein on his thigh. Sehun slips one finger into himself.  
  
“One minute,” Jongin says hoarsely.  
  
Sehun’s finger barely slips into his second knuckle before he inserts another one in. A noise of embarrassment makes its way between his lips as Jongin watches hungrily. Sehun works his fingers quickly, perfunctorily. His breathing is uneven, labored, as he scissors himself open.  
  
“Is that -- ” Sehun begins. He adjusts himself on the desk, then asks unsurely, “Is it good?” Like he needs Jongin’s approval, because he wants to be _good_ for Jongin.  
  
“Spread your legs,” Jongin says curtly. “Take out your fingers.”  
  
Sehun quickly complies, jerking his legs open so that he’s completely exposed, spread out on the desk like he’s waiting to be taken, waiting to be fucked.  
  
Jongin does his zipper and pulls out his cock deftly. Sehun’s pupils dilate and he rocks forward.  
  
“You need this, don’t you,” Jongin murmurs, almost to himself, as he stands up and steps closer. He reaches out and Sehun tilts his head back obediently, baring his throat for Jongin to touch. “You need my cock.”  
  
“I need it, I need it, sir, please give it to me.”  
  
Jongin cocks his head consideringly. He angles his cock adjacent to Sehun’s stretched hole. “Take it then. Take what you want.”  
  
Sehun’s eyebrows furrow in confusion.  
  
“Fuck yourself on my cock,” Jongin says. “Go on.”  
  
Sehun whines but lurches forward, his back slipping across the desk and his hands gripping the edge of the table. Jongin helps him a bit by leaning forward, but only enough so that the head of his cock can slot in.  
  
“Come on,” Jongin urges him, coaxing him. “Come on, baby.”  
  
Sehun makes this frustrated noise, but tries to jerk forward again. Since he’s unable to find leverage, Sehun can only thrust a short distance, ungainly on Jongin’s dick.  
  
“You can’t, huh?” Jongin says goadingly, clutching the base of his cock, “You can’t get what you want without me.”  
  
“Please,” Sehun says, whining, “Mr. Kim, I can’t -- ”  
  
Taking pity on him, Jongin snaps his hips forward. Sehun winces when Jongin’s dick slots in; everything is too tight, with only spit and sweat to ease the way, but Jongin just pushes, this inner desire screaming at him to take take take --  
  
“Oh, _ah -- ”_ Sehun tries clutching at the desk, holding on and trying to find a solid hold; but Jongin just bares his teeth and gives in, rides that wave of adrenaline and shoves his body forward, thrusting hard and rough and artless.  
  
“Please,” Sehun whimpers and Jongin’s reaching up before he can stop himself; he smacks Sehun’s cheek hard enough so that it stings.  
  
“Shut up,” Jongin pants, in between thrusts. He grabs Sehun’s shoulders and pushes him down, leveraging himself so it’s easier to pummel forward. He must hit Sehun’s prostate because Sehun fucking cries out. “You deserve this, you take what I give you -- ”  
  
Sehun lets out another harsh groan, face contorting, but he keeps his legs wide open, even clenching his tight ring of muscle around Jongin’s cock so that all Jongin can think of is that tight heat, that perfect tight hole --  
  
One shaky hand tries to snake its way to Sehun’s throbbing erection, to probably relieve some of the pressure; but Jongin slaps Sehun’s probing hand away. “You come when I tell you to,” Jongin grunts, angling again so that he can hit Sehun’s prostate. “You don’t touch yourself. Do you understand?”  
  
“Y-yes,” Sehun says shakily, his body rocking in time with Jongin’s sharp thrusts. “Yes, sir.”  
  
Jongin’s balls tighten and his groin twists familiarly; Jongin squeezes Sehun’s clavicles, then comes in a seething rush.  
  
Sehun milks him through it, clenching his muscles. When Jongin regains his composure, Sehun’s whining desperately, his cock a slobbering mess on his belly, hard and aching.  
  
“How,” Jongin pants, trying to catch his breath, his mind still reeling from his orgasm, “How do you want to come? Tell me, tell me how you want it -- ”  
  
“I don’t know,” Sehun says desperately, “Any way, I just -- ”  
  
Jongin’s chest clenches at the indecisiveness in Sehun’s voice; Jongin quickly kisses him before reaching down and working him, fingers slick and tight and slow, jerking until Sehun’s a writhing, whining, panting mess.  
  
Sehun lets out a low whimper when he comes, shooting out over his stomach. Jongin kisses him hard and with a hint of teeth.  
  
It takes them both several minutes to come down from the exhilaration. Jongin releases in increments, pulling his mouth away from Sehun’s, unfurling his fist from Sehun’s shirt, stepping away to take in Sehun’s red and worn mouth, the mottled bruise beginning to bloom on his collarbone. There’s come on Jongin’s shirt and sweat stains on his pants. He feels debauched.  
  
“Holy shit,” Sehun says. He’s sprawled against the table, chest heaving. His nipples are pebbled from the cool AC and there’s come still drying on his belly. His hair’s wreathed around his head, some strands of it falling onto the desk like a halo. Jongin kisses his nose, his chin, before sliding lower, dragging his tongue through the pool of semen; he noses at Sehun’s limp cock and Sehun makes an embarrassed noise, pushes Jongin away. Jongin’s mouth wanders across the lovely, smooth expanse of Sehun’s thigh. Jongin kisses Sehun’s knee, his calf.  
  
“How was that,” Jongin asks quietly. His hand cradles Sehun’s ankle.  
  
It’s a testament to the quality of their sex that Sehun doesn’t even reply sarcastically. “Good,” he says. “So good.”  
  
“Good,” Jongin echoes. His hand tightens on Sehun’s ankle, fingers tracing the fine bone there, brushing against the skin.  
  
“Are you okay?” Jongin asks.  
  
Sehun slurs, “‘M fucking fantastic. You?”  
  
“Do you want to come home with me? Or -- ” Jongin purses his lips, “Can I come home with you? Not to have sex again, I just want… ”  
  
“Yeah,” Sehun says, sitting up. “Yeah.”  
  
They clean up -- Jongin reminds himself to buy more tissues to restock his office -- and Jongin lends Sehun a pair of joggers and a dark sweater conveniently stashed in his drawer for when Jongin wants to work out. For the guilty pleasure of seeing Sehun in his clothes, Jongin secretly hopes that Sehun never returns them.  
  
It isn’t until they’re settled in Jongin’s car, radio playing some quiet classical music off of one of Jongin’s old playlist, that Sehun brings it up.  
  
“What’s wrong?” Sehun says. He has a strange, cunning way of finding Jongin’s weakest moments.  
  
Jongin considers playing ignorant, but after a minute, he formulates his thoughts and says, “You bring out the worst in me. It’s… terrifying.” He turns the steering wheel tightly. “You make me lose control.”  
  
“You would stop if I asked you,” Sehun says, not quite a question.  
  
“Of course.”  
  
“Then you’re still in control. You bring out the worst in me too. You know I’m never so rude to anyone else.” Sehun’s looking out the car window. His reflection is blurry. “Except maybe Luhan.”  
  
“Yeah, I figured.” Wryly, Jongin goes, “Thanks.”  
  
“It’s -- I guess it’s because I don’t have to control myself as much around you. You can see more of -- of me.”  
  
Jongin knows that it’s hard for Sehun to talk about emotions like this, so he says quietly, “Thank you.”  
  
Sehun shoots him a look. “Anyway,” he says briskly, as though glad to stop talking about this particular subject, “Come inside, will you? I’m making brioche and I want you to try.”  
  
Jongin wants to talk a little more about it -- he wants to say thank you again, ask _are you alright?_ and thank you again and again and again -- but he doesn’t want to push. “Yeah,” he says, “Okay.”  
  
Because here’s the thing: sleeping with Sehun is fantastic. It’s too good to be true. It’s exhilarating, spiralling out of control, free-falling out of the sky with no parachute and no back-up plan. It’s terrifying, and Jongin keeps waiting to crash back down into reality.  
  
  
  
Since they’ll both probably end up staying up late to finish work, they have cold brew coffee while Jongin tries to help Sehun make the brioche. (Keyword: tries.)  
  
Sehun expertly rolls out his dough, uses a butter knife and two fingers to spread the azuki paste thick, before rolling up the dough, cinnamon-bun style. Then, he cuts the roll lengthwise so that thin lines of dark red are visible, and braids the strands -- cut-side up for aesthetic purposes -- deftly. Sehun’s pink tongue peeks out from between his lips as he works carefully, adjusting each bit of plump dough until he’s satisfied. “Pretty,” he says. He pats his dough lovingly.  
  
“Like you,” Jongin says.  
  
Sehun snorts in disbelief. “Drink your coffee,” he says. “It’ll be ready in thirty minutes.”  
  
But Jongin’s still thinking about this -- about _them_ \-- him and Sehun, especially in bed. “Are you okay with this?” he asks as Sehun pulls out his computer. The white light floods his face and Sehun scrunches his nose cutely.  
  
“With what?” Sehun says distractedly, typing in his very secure -- sixteen characters with upper and lowercase letters, as well as two special symbols -- password. Jongin only knows this because Sehun’s been nagging him about cybersecurity and constant vigilance lately.  
  
“I mean, with me being on top all the time.”  
  
“Do you not like it?”  
  
Jongin must be picking up Sehun’s habits because he rolls his eyes. “Of course you know I like it. I love it. But if you want to switch, we can switch.”  
  
Sehun looks at him suspiciously. “Why are you analyzing our sex so much?”  
  
“I just,” Jongin flushes, embarrassed. “I want to make sure it’s good.”  
  
Sehun’s face cycles through a series of expressions, too quickly for Jongin to determine any single one, before he parts his lips slightly and loosens the tension between his eyebrows. It makes his face look soft, younger. “It is good. It’s so good. And if you want to switch, then we’ll switch once in a while. But I like bottoming for you. And you like it too.”  
  
“Yeah,” Jongin agrees.  
  
“Yeah,” Sehun echoes easily. He smiles faintly.  
  
The azuki bread comes out a little while later, piping hot and beautifully golden-brown. Jongin carefully cuts them each a thick slice and refills their coffee. Sehun grabs the azuki paste and liberally slathers more onto his brioche. The bread is rich and soft, melts in Jongin’s mouth. The paste is thick and textured.  
  
They eat and talk a bit more before Jongin tries to unsuccessfully stifle a yawn.  
  
“Stay the night,” Sehun says, his eyes crinkled in amusement. “We’ll have breakfast together tomorrow.”  
  
“That sounds wonderful,” Jongin says emphatically, kisses Sehun and tastes sweet red bean and coffee.  
  
  
  
Jongin wakes up early the next morning, earlier than usual anyway. Sehun’s still sleeping, curled around Jongin warmly, his lips pouting even in his sleep. He looks tired, and Jongin lets him sleep, though he steals a kiss before picking up his phone and scrolling through unread messages.  
  
A loud chime from the doorbell interrupts him. Jongin waits for whoever who rang to go away, but not three seconds passes by before the doorbell starts ringing incessantly, _ding ding ding ding ding_ , like a toddler is jamming stubby little fingers into the button.  
  
Jongin quickly gets out of bed, and opens the door before Sehun wakes up.  
  
“What,” Jongin says, as bright sunlight floods the house when he swings open the front door.  
  
“Hi,” Luhan chirps cheerily. Beside him is another man, who’s looking at Jongin with a perfectly arched eyebrow. “Good morning.”  
  
“I’m Jongin,” Jongin says absently. He belatedly realizes that he should’ve put on a shirt, but refuses to be embarrassed or cross his arms over his chest.  
  
“Hi Jongin,” the other man says, his lips quirking into a knowing smile. “I’m Minseok.”  
  
“Hi,” Jongin says unintelligently. “Um. Sehun’s sleeping.”  
  
“Figured,” Luhan says breezily, shouldering his way into the house. Minseok gives Jongin an apologetic look before following.  
  
“Come on in,” Jongin mumbles, but closes the door behind them.  
  
“Do you have work today?” Luhan calls out as he enters the kitchen.  
  
“Yeah, but we were going to call in late,” Jongin says, following them in.  
  
Minseok’s seated himself at the countertop, nibbling at a leftover muffin he snatched from the tray. Jongin takes a seat next to him.  
  
Minseok turns toward Jongin, looks like he’s about to initiate a civil conversation, when Luhan interrupts.  
  
“Well, this is awkward,” Luhan says, completely unawkwardly.  
  
“How’s it awkward,” Minseok asks, “Also, did you already have breakfast?”  
  
“No,” Jongin says slowly. “Not yet.”  
  
“For starters,” Luhan goes, “We’re sitting here talking normally when everyone in the room knows that Jongin’s dick has been up my best friend’s ass.”  
  
“You know,” Jongin says weakly. He’s dealt with crying employees, raunchy old businessmen, and manipulative politicians, but never has he felt this out of his element. “It wasn’t awkward until you said it was awkward.”  
  
“See,” Minseok says, “Someone agrees with me.”  
  
Luhan rolls his eyes. “Anyway,” he continues, “Have you been treating Sehun nicely?”  
  
Jongin squares his shoulders. “Yes.”  
  
Luhan inspects him, then nods, apparently satisfied.  
  
“Leave him alone,” Sehun’s voice drifts out to join them as its owner pads into the bedroom. He’s wearing one of Jongin’s shirts and a pair of high school basketball shorts. Aside from the dark circles under his eyes, he looks more rested.  
  
“What do you mean?” Luhan says innocently, but leans back.  
  
“Good morning,” Jongin says, a small grin spreading over his face before he can stop it.  
  
“They’re a handful,” Sehun says to Jongin, then proceeds to sit in his lap. Jongin’s arms come up automatically to wrap around Sehun’s waist, and he spreads his legs so that Sehun can perch on the edge of the chair between Jongin’s thighs.  
  
“That’s disgustingly cute,” Luhan wrinkles his nose. “I hope you know that. Like really, disgustingly cute.”  
  
Minseok asks, “Who wants breakfast?”  
  
All of them, dysfunctional as they are, manage to scrounge up a suitable breakfast for four hungry men. Sehun and Jongin only argue about which pan to use for approximately six minutes (during which Minseok and Luhan watch amusedly), and they manage to not even break a single piece of plateware.  
  
Today, breakfast is several kinds of toast with omelettes: Jongin and Sehun crack six or seven eggs and mix in cheese, milk, sausage, cilantro, and onion; Luhan spreads goat cheese and blackberry jam onto toast while Minseok uses peanut butter and toasted coconut to top a few other slices.  
  
They eat and talk and Sehun convinces them that, no, it would not be a good idea to have mimosas. Luhan looks vaguely put out but Minseok reassures him that they’ll all go out for brunch that weekend.  
  
Minseok and Luhan leave with full bellies and cheery smiles; Jongin drives Sehun to work, drops him off at the front before speeding into the parking lot. He doesn’t see Sehun for the rest of the day, but has his last matcha lava muffin for lunch.  
  
  
  
\---  
  
  
  
Sehun drives Jongin, Minseok, and Luhan to brunch that weekend. They go to this store and order eggs benedict and too many waffles; Sehun asks for mimosas half as a joke but Jongin ends up drinking a few too many.  
  
That night Minseok wants to go clubbing, so then they all decide to join him. Not EXO, but another high-end club. It’s Friday, and crowded.  
  
Before, Sehun had been slightly worried Jongin wouldn’t get along with Luhan and Minseok, but he clicks surprisingly well with them, especially with Minseok. At the club, Minseok convinces Jongin to order strawberry daiquiris and before long, they’ve progressed into bright blue martinis and jello shots and drinks topped with whipped cream and cherries and hot pink umbrellas. Sehun orders straight soju, like a man.  
  
By the time they’re all pleasantly drunk, Jongin’s heading for the dance floor and dragging Minseok along with him.  
  
“Behave,” Sehun calls after them, his voice and vision steady since he can fucking hold a drink, unlike some people.  
  
“You seem happy,” Luhan comments, nudging Sehun’s shoulder.  
  
“Yeah,” Sehun says absently. He takes another sip from his drink. “I think I am.”  
  
Luhan downs his glass -- “Show off,” Sehun mutters -- and slams the cup onto the bar. Someone recognizes Luhan, a friend from the gym or something, and the two of them start talking. The bartender comes around with another round of shots.  
  
Before Sehun can grab one, someone sneaks up behind him, wrapping two arms around his waist. Directly into Sehun’s ear, Jongin says, “Come dance with me.”  
  
“I’m enjoying my alcohol.”  
  
“I think I’ll be more fun than your soju.”  
  
“You’re going to prove it to me?”  
  
Jongin smiles, slow and dangerous, like a predator.  
  
Despite Sehun’s half-hearted protests, Jongin drags them both to the dance floor. It’s crowded, too hot, and the music is some atrocious pop song; it’s like college all over again, but then Jongin’s rolling his hips in this delicious way and then suddenly, despite the sweaty bodies around them, Sehun can’t find any reason to complain.  
  
This is Jongin in his element: he’s singing along to the song, smirking and grinning and dancing; he tugs Sehun close and they end up with Jongin’s front plastered to Sehun’s back, grinding slowly to the beat. Sehun mostly follows Jongin but he’s drunk enough to let his body sway freely, let Jongin’s hands wander posessively over his shirt, slide over his chest. Something about tonight -- maybe the alcohol, or the music, or the smoky club -- makes Sehun’s skin buzz and suddenly he takes Jongin’s hand, runs it down his abdomen and over his crotch.  
  
Jongin’s breath comes low and heavy in Sehun’s ear, his tongue darting out to kiss the skin of Sehun’s jaw; Sehun rolls his head onto Jongin’s shoulder and rocks into Jongin’s erection. “You feel that?” Jongin murmurs.  
  
“You’re very eager.” Sehun turns around and wraps his arms around Jongin’s neck. Jongin’s hands grip his waist. “What makes you so sure I’ll let you put that dick anywhere near me?”  
  
“You can’t fucking resist,” Jongin smirks. He leans in and engulfs Sehun’s mouth in a kiss. When they pull apart, Sehun’s lips are wet and swollen.  
  
“Nice try, hot shot,” Sehun replies. His pulse is humming but Sehun can play this game a little longer. “My soju tasted better.”  
  
Luhan’s laughing with his other friend when Sehun returns to the bar. Minseok’s back as well, downing another pink shot.  
  
“Having fun?” Sehun asks loudly so he can be heard.  
  
“Hell yeah,” Minseok says. “This is Jongin’s tab, so I’m having the time of my life.”  
  
“What about me?” Jongin pushes his way through the throng.  
  
“Nothing,” Minseok says brightly. He wipes margarita salt off his lips.  
  
“So,” Luhan turns around and rejoins the conversation as his other friend slinks away. “Saw you two practically having sex on the dance floor.”  
  
“Yeah?” Sehun says, slipping into the empty seat. “That’s as close as Jongin’s going to get to sex tonight.”  
  
Minseok cackles.  
  
Jongin smirks and slings an arm around Minseok. “That’s what he thinks.”  
  
“Oh?” Sehun raises a skeptical eyebrow. “You think you can change my mind?”  
  
“I know I can change your mind.”  
  
“Yeah,” Minseok says, reaching out for another shot. “That definitely felt like you guys were eye-fucking in front of me.”  
  
Luhan whistles and thrusts a tray of shots towards Sehun. Sehun grabs the closest one and downs it all in one go.  
  
Jongin orders another round for all of them and Minseok whoops in delight.  
  
By the time they’ve finished another round, plus some extra fruity soju that Sehun gets, because he refuses to drink anything that resembles magenta or cyan, Luhan’s bellowing the lyrics of the song playing on the top of his lungs, Sehun can’t stop himself from smiling drunkenly, Jongin’s bobbing his head off-rhythm, and Minseok -- Minseok is, predictably, still drinking.  
  
“Let’s go to karaoke!” Luhan yells.  
  
Minseok’s never been one to skip karaoke, and Sehun’s not quite ready for the night to end yet (he knows he’ll end up caving and having sex with Jongin, but hey, the anticipation’s half the fun, right? Let the man wait a little), so they pile into a taxi and go to the closest karaoke bar. Luhan sings solo, loudly and proudly, save one time where he and Jongin do a duet, waving his hands and generally making himself like an idiot. Minseok croons a slow love song and Sehun raps an old American song.  
  
They order, surprise surprise, more alcohol. By the time Luhan’s voice is starting to waiver, Minseok’s slumped against him, mumbling into the microphone nonsensically.  
  
Sehun snorts, and moves to go to the bathroom.  
  
He should’ve known that he would’ve been ambushed there.  
  
He takes a piss, the bathroom shockingly bright and quiet in comparison to the karaoke box, then washes his hands.  
  
The door swings open. “Oh,” Jongin smiles, pleased. “Hey.”  
  
“Hi,” Sehun says. He tries, unsuccessfully, to not smile.  
  
“So I was thinking,” Jongin begins.  
  
“Dangerous,” Sehun smirks.  
  
“Minseok and Luhan are pretty drunk -- ”  
  
“You can’t even walk in a straight line,” Sehun points out, then remembers that he cannot either.  
  
“Minseok and Luhan are pretty drunk,” Jongin continues, leaning against the bathroom wall, “So they won’t notice if we head out.”  
  
“What,” Sehun says slowly, teasingly, “Together?”  
  
“Oh,” Jongin says casually. “I was just thinking we could catch a ride together.” Jongin shrugs gracefully. The collar of his loose shirt slips, exposes a smooth clavicle. “Save some cash.”  
  
“Why’s the son of a CEO worrying about cash?”  
  
“I’m fine,” Jongin grins, leering. He stalks forward. “I’m just looking out for the working class.”  
  
“Thoughtful,” Sehun says consideringly, “But unnecessary. I can get by on my own.”  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
“Mm. Yeah.”  
  
“You do a lot of things on your own?”  
  
Sehun raises an eyebrow. “When I need to.”  
  
“What kinds of things,” Jongin drops his voice.  
  
“Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”  
  
“Do you touch yourself, Sehun?”  
  
Sehun’s nostrils flare involuntarily.  
  
“Do you want to show me?” Jongin continues, “I can just watch. Pretty thing like you, put on a show for me. I won’t touch you -- I’ll just watch.”  
  
“Something tells me you can’t resist,” Sehun says, but his voice hitches.  
  
“I know myself,” Jongin replies, oozing confidence.  
  
“Yeah?” Sehun leans back against the bathroom wall, and this should be disgusting, they shouldn’t be doing this _here_ , but they’re both too drunk to care and Sehun’s been waiting for this for too long. “What if I did this?” Sehun flips open his belt, tugs it off. It clatters onto the tile loudly.  
  
Jongin licks his lips.  
  
“Or this?” Sehun undoes his zipper. He runs a hand down his belly slowly. “Sure you don’t want to touch?”  
  
“‘M not looking for anything you don’t want,” Jongin says huskily but his eyes are hungry, dark.  
  
“Sure,” Sehun breathes out. Everything is warm and delicious and teasing, smooth and slow, tinged with alcohol.  
  
This is the moment that Minseok chooses to walk into the bathroom. Upon seeing Sehun with his hand running up and down his crotch, and Jongin watching carefully, Minseok lets out a shrill shriek and walks back out of the bathroom. They can hear his faint yelling even as the door shuts.  
  
Sehun grimaces and, with the mood effectively killed, does his pants up again. Shoulder to shoulder, he and Jongin amble back to the karaoke box.  
  
“They were practically having _sex_ in the _bathroom_ ,” Minseok’s stage-whispering to Luhan when they return, his expression horrified.  
  
“Hot,” Luhan says unbothered, and takes another swing from his soju.  
  
Minseok grimaces, then grabs the microphone again. “My turn to sing.”  
  
“You’re going to kill my ears,” Jongin says, but he grabs a mic too.  
  
“That’s even worse,” Sehun grumbles, but settles in to watch.  
  
They sing the night away, staying in that cramped karaoke joint until closing. Then they all take a taxi back to Jongin’s place, which they have chosen to all crash at since it is a penthouse, and the biggest home out of the four of them, and, you guessed it, a penthouse.  
  
They’re still singing drunkenly in the taxi, but when they arrive at Jongin’s place, Minseok and Luhan promptly pass out in the guestroom.  
  
“Lightweights,” Sehun mumbles, even though he’s horribly drunk himself.  
  
“Bed?”  
  
Sehun makes a happy noise.  
  
They manage to take off their clothes, albeit clumsily, and stumble into the bed together. Sehun’s obsessed with Jongin’s mouth, keeps touching and kissing and wants to look at it forever. He dips his hand in between plush lips like he’s fingerpainting and Jongin’s mouth is a jar of paint: slow and tentative and with the curiosity of a child who wants to create art.  
  
Jongin moans and sucks on Sehun's fingers; his throat is fleshy and hot and slick. Sehun feels a vague sense of arousal stirring in his belly but it isn't urgent.  
  
When Sehun withdraws his fingers from Jongin’s mouth, Jongin rolls them over so that he’s on top, nibbling at Sehun’s neck and humping him dryly, mumbling and babbling: “Wanna fuck you so hard, God -- I want to bite you kiss you mark you, you're mine, Sehun, you're fucking mine -- ”  
  
“Yeah,” Sehun whines, “Okay, yeah, yeah come on, I need -- ”  
  
It’s artless: they’re too drunk to have anything but messy sex. Sehun ends up on all fours; his sweaty palms keep adjusting their grip on the sheets, his left knee keeps slipping and Jongin’s thrusts are slightly irregular and uneven: an imperfect rhythm.  
  
But it’s so good, because Sehun knows Jongin's body now and everything is dulled around the edges -- the lights smeared, the color of Jongin's mouth blurred into his skin. When he’s drunk, everything is soft and dull and warm and Sehun vaguely registers the fact that he's coming, convulsing into the pocket of Jongin’s palm.  
  
“Yeah,” Jongin slurs as he comes messily, “Yeah, like that, take my cock -- _agh_ \-- you're so perfect, God, I love you -- you're so perfect -- ”  
  
“Thanks,” Sehun mumbles as his elbows and knees tremble. He collapses onto the bed and passes out.  
  
  
  
When Sehun wakes up the next morning, it’s in a small puddle of his own drool, and he can’t feel his own tongue. The sunlight that leaks into the bedroom feels like knives stabbing into his skull. He spends the entire day moping around Jongin’s penthouse before finally feeling like a human being again.  
  
A few days after that, Sehun whips up this fantastic lychee butter cake after work: it’s soft and moist, spongy and rich, a light caramel sauce drizzled on top of the cream.  
  
Proud, Sehun snaps a picture and sends it to Jongin.  
  
Jongin replies a few minutes later, uncharacteristically short, with just a happy face.  
  
_you ok?_ _  
__  
__Long day at work._ _  
__  
__wanna talk about it?_ _  
__  
__Can you come over?_ _  
__  
__yeah_ _  
__  
__Can you stay over?_ _  
__  
_ Sehun doesn’t hesitate. _yeah, omw_ _  
__  
_ It’s the third time this week that they’re sleeping together -- like physically sharing a bed and spending the night with each other -- and it’s starting to feel like codependency; but Sehun’s strangely unbothered. He brushes the thought out of his head as he packs a container of food and brings it along.  
  
Jongin lets him in and they end up sitting on the couch, eating the microwaved green curry that Sehun brought, watching mindless TV. Jongin doesn’t talk; Sehun doesn’t push.  
  
When they go to bed, Jongin climbs in first and pulls the covers to his chin. Sehun suppresses a smile and clambers in after him, wrapping his arms around Jongin and spooning him from the back. Jongin turns and kisses Sehun exploratorily, his tongue tracing patterns onto Sehun’s lip, onto the inside of his cheek. He kisses deeply, like he's drowning and gasping for breath.  
  
  
  
“Hello,” Sehun says when he enters the break room in search of a sweet cup of coffee.  
  
Jisoo looks up from her phone. “Hi.”  
  
The coffee machine gurgles and spits out black liquid.  
  
“I found this new dumpling place,” she says, holding out her phone. “Half-price today. Wanna go for lunch?”  
  
Sehun shrugs. “Sure.”  
  
The mandu dumplings are steamed and delicious; they’re working through a box of them and catching each other up on the latest office gossip (“And she asks that to _Junmyeon_ ,” Jisoo shrieks. Sehun snorts disbelievingly, “And in front of Jongin?” Jisoo nods, fanning herself as she laughs.) before they get on the topic of Jisoo’s ex-boyfriend.  
  
“He was so bad, but so hot,” she goes, plaintively, “He was -- he looked like Mr. _Kim,_ he was that hot.”  
  
Sehun chews his dumpling. “You think Jongin’s hot?”  
  
She grabs another dumpling. “Don’t you? Oh right, you don't get along with him.” She wiggles her eyebrows suggestively.  
  
“What do you mean?”  
  
“Don’t be like that.”  
  
“Be like what?” Sehun protests.  
  
She fixes him with a stern look. “I saw him driving you to work the other day.”  
  
Sehun blanches. “I didn’t -- ”  
  
Her expression softens. “It was only me and Chaeyoung. And besides, you called him Jongin just now, instead of Mr. Kim.”  
  
Since he doesn’t know what to say, Sehun eats another dumpling.  
  
“I won’t tell anyone,” she snatches another dumpling as well. “I just,” she looks down at the mandu, “Be careful. He’s had a past.”  
  
Sehun narrows his eyes. “With EXO?”  
  
She fidgets. “I mean, I don't know much. I only know the gossip. But apparently the department head before Kim -- Siwon -- he was involved in many deals. He was one of the founders of EXO.”  
  
“But EXO’s a club.”  
  
“It’s a chain of clubs, but it connects these businessmen who do… ” she trails off, then says, “What they do. It’s this network. Anyway, Siwon was in charge until he left the company, and everyone expected Jongin to continue -- I mean, the company was in deep, so he did for a bit but… apparently he’s been stopping lately. He’s been going on trips less frequently now. I guess it wouldn’t look good if he became CEO and had this sort of stuff going on.”  
  
“That makes sense,” Sehun muses to himself, thinking of how Jongin had told him he was getting _out_ of a deal in Yokohama. “And EXO’s only in Asia?”  
  
“Taiwan, Japan, Korea, Thailand, and China,” Jisoo agrees. “Maybe Singapore, too.”  
  
There’s only one dumpling left. As his thoughts swirl in his head, Sehun stares at it.  
  
Jisoo pipes up. “Split the last one?”  
  
  
  
The days pass by quickly, as always, as the work piles on. Sehun doesn’t get to see Jongin until a few days later, when he’s at home, making mapo tofu.  
  
The doorbell rings.  
  
“Sorry,” Jongin says when Sehun opens the door. “I didn’t text you before. I was just hoping to see you.”  
  
“You’re always welcome here,” Sehun says, and lets him in.  
  
“How was your day,” Jongin asks, shrugging off his coat and sliding into a chair at the kitchen table.  
  
“Fine. Met with Jisoo and we finally finished some of that paperwork for the anniversary next month.”  
  
“That’s good,” Jongin says absently. He gets up and starts stirring the tofu helpfully.  
  
“You?”  
  
“Good,” Jongin says.  
  
They talk a little more, about work and life. They get into a rather heated debate about the merits of Microsoft Excel versus Google Sheets.  
  
“Excel has more functions, and better tools. Google Sheets is like the rip-off version,” Sehun says adamantly.  
  
“But you can’t share them! And not everyone uses Microsoft. With Google Docs, you can share with anyone, and work together on the same spreadsheet at the same time.”  
  
“You can’t be serious,” Sehun says, glaring, “You’re giving up functionality for what? Convenience? How long does it take to send a file over email?”  
  
“How long does it take to deal with file conversion or downloading and reuploading?”  
  
“You only like Google Sheets because you can’t use half of the functions in Excel.”  
  
“You’re insulting my formatting skills now? This is not what this argument is about -- ”  
  
“Excel gives the user many more functions that Google Sheets could _never_ compare with! Besides, Google steals your information! At least with Excel, your files are secure.”  
  
Jongin makes a frustrated noise just as the timer dings. But they put aside their differences to diplomatically split the mapo tofu. They eat the soft tofu and meat over steaming rice.  
  
Sehun’s still thinking about work when he mentions, “Speaking of security -- ”  
  
Jongin groans. “Please, no.”  
  
“This is a serious issue, Kim Jongin, why don’t you listen to me? I studied this, alright, unlike you.” Cybersecurity _is_ important, but Sehun mostly just wants an excuse to bicker.  
  
Jongin pouts. “Fine. Enlighten me.”  
  
“You and every other employee at the company puts tons and tons of data onto the Internet and onto our computers. Think of all of those files! If someone tried to hack into our system -- ”  
  
“That’s why we hired those pen-testers,” Jongin says, patiently, “To secure our system.”  
  
“It doesn’t work if you keep all your passwords on a Google Doc called ‘passwords’ -- ”  
  
“Hey!” Jongin protests. “It’s convenient! Do you know how many passwords I have to use?”  
  
“ -- defeats the purpose of putting up firewalls and using VPNs… ”  
  
They continue squabbling like children. Before long, the tofu’s polished off and they’re both full. After reaching a stalemate in their discussion over security versus accessibility, they settle in the living room to get some work done.  
  
Jongin’s fiddling with some music when Sehun asks, “If you had something you wanted to tell me, you would tell me?”  
  
Jongin looks up and smiles bemusedly. “What do you mean?”  
  
Sehun remains serious. “I mean if there was something -- ”  
  
Jongin seems to sense Sehun’s hesitation. “Of course.”  
  
Deep down, Sehun wants to ask more about EXO, but he figures that Jongin will tell him in his own time and Sehun wants to respect his privacy. And anyway, Jisoo’s told him a lot, and he understands the gist of it.  
  
Jongin puts on Rachmaninoff. Sehun only recognizes it because of the piano lessons he took as a child and teenager.  
  
Sehun’s crunching numbers (with Excel, the superior spreadsheet platform, thank you very much) when Jongin speaks again.  
  
“You’re so good at your work,” Jongin says with an observant tone.  
  
“Mm,” Sehun says. “I enjoy it. I enjoy the numbers and I like using computers.”  
  
Jongin nods and goes back to highlighting something on his paper.  
  
“What about you?” Sehun says. “Do you enjoy your work?” He knows that it’s a sensitive topic and carefully averts his eyes, pretending to be interested in his spreadsheet.  
  
Jongin puts down his yellow highlighter. He picks up a blue ballpoint pen, and rolls it in the dip between his thumb and forefinger.  
  
Sehun fixes a column and opens up his programming code. Since it seems like Jongin won’t answer, Sehun loses himself in trying to write a script.  
  
“I don't hate my father,” Jongin says a few minutes later. He speaks deliberately lightly. “I hated him when I was younger because he pushed me to this position.” Jongin licks his lips and Sehun closes his laptop. “But knowing his childhood, he just wanted the best for me and -- and he was, he was scared for me. How could I make a living for myself as a dancer, much less a ballet dancer?” Jongin stares at his paper.  
  
“I don’t hate my work,” he continues, “The paperwork and writing and bills are… annoying, but I like working with people. At least, with good people.” Sehun doesn't know if he means personality or EXO or what but lets him continue. “I like connecting with people and it’s -- interesting to me. I liked dancing because it was giving the people what they wanted.”  
  
Jongin brushes hair out of his face. “I guess business is the same way: I smile nice, laugh, and give the people what they want -- a show.” Jongin smiles self deprecatingly. “Sorry, you probably weren’t -- ”  
  
“No,” Sehun says, “I wanted to know.” He presses his lips together and tries to think of how to communicate what he wants to say.  
  
Jongin’s iPhone ringtone fills the room. He looks relieved. “Hello?”  
  
As Jongin talks -- it’s probably Heechul or Junmyeon, Sehun reasons -- Sehun finishes setting up his Excel spreadsheet.  
  
“How do you feel about Italy?” Jongin asks when he finally hangs up.  
  
“Like, their economy?” Sehun asks, confused.  
  
“Like, as a vacation,” Jongin corrects.  
  
“Vacation,” Sehun repeats.  
  
Jongin types something into his laptop. “You can use your sick leave. There’s this beautiful hotel in Italy that Junmyeon just got tickets to. He doesn’t want to use them, so if you want -- ” Jongin scratches his head.  
  
“The two of us?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“Yes. God, yes. I could use a vacation.”  
  
“Okay,” Jongin grins, disarmingly bright. “Okay, yeah.”  
  
Sehun peers over Jongin’s shoulder. He scans the search results for Hotel Danieli, a palatial hotel in Italy, right on the banks of a canal, Venice’s waterways.  
  
“Damn,” Sehun says.  
  
“Yeah,” Jongin agrees.  
  
They scour the Internet for photos of the hotel, before deciding to call it a night. Jongin knocks out fast, nuzzling his nose into Sehun’s chest and snuggling close, snoring heavily. Sehun’s tired as well, but he thinks about ballet and Rachmaninoff for a while before falling asleep. He doesn’t dream.  
  
  
  
Monday.  
  
Sehun lets his head droop a bit as Kyungsoo drones on monotonously about licensed vehicles and vendor parking permits. They’re in the office conference room again, and finalizing their plans for the upcoming anniversary gala. Unfortunately, the logistical details of vehicular parking are not absolutely riveting to Sehun, so he mostly tunes out Kyungsoo as the man explains how he’s arranged for parking at the convention center.  
  
Sehun’s phone buzzes in his pocket.  
  
“... come around the back of the building, where there are extra spaces… ”  
  
Sehun glances around the room. Jongin’s standing off to the side, leaning against the front desk as Kyungsoo’s presenting. The rest of them are seated, and no one besides Jongin and Chaeyoung look particularly interested.  
  
From Luhan: _hey, are you busy tonight?_  
  
Under the table (Sehun got a lot of practice in high school and college, okay?), Sehun types out, _no. why do you ask_  
  
_potluck at my place. bring dessert and jongin?_  
  
Sehun sends a winky face. He’s about to text Minseok.  
  
“Sehun,” Jongin calls out, interrupting Kyungsoo.  
  
Sehun looks up innocently, picking up his pen. “Yes sir?”  
  
Jongin’s eyes narrow suspiciously at the honorific. “Pay attention,” he says eventually, then waves a hand for Kyungsoo to continue.  
  
Then Sehun goes up after Kyungsoo finishes, to brief them on budgeting for the event and forms to fill out. Jongin nitpicks a bit, asking Sehun a few difficult questions and questioning his reasoning a bit, but Sehun answers with relative ease.  
  
“Very good,” Jongin nods, satisfied, when Sehun finishes.  
  
Sehun lets a lip quirk. “Thank you, Mr. Kim.” He takes a seat. Jisoo coughs delicately.  
  
They wrap up the meeting quickly. Jongin lingers to talk to Kyungsoo; and Baekhyun comes up to ask Sehun something about allocating funds.  
  
“I hadn’t thought of that,” Baekhyun says, surprised, when Sehun shows him another way to split his resources. “Thank you, Sehun.”  
  
Sehun smiles. “Sure.”  
  
Lowering his voice, Baekhyun leans in and says, “I’m glad to see you’re finally getting along with Mr. Kim. I told you things would work out.” Baekhyun smiles proudly and Sehun only feels a little guilty.  
  
“Sehun,” Jongin calls out, as Kyungsoo leaves with a stack of papers in hand.  
  
“Sir?” Sehun says. He relishes the way Jongin’s expression tightens at his use of the honorific.  
  
“Let’s go over those numbers one more time.”  
  
Baekhyun and Kyungsoo strike up conversation as they leave the conference room.  
  
“You don’t trust my work?” Sehun raises an eyebrow.  
  
“As you continue working with me,” Jongin says conversationally, leaning against the desk and crossing his arms over his chest. “You’ll find that I like to be very -- ” he pauses. “Thorough.”  
  
“Is that so,” Sehun asks blandly. He lets his eyes flit briefly over the long lines of Jongin’s legs, the crisp collar of his dress shirt. They should _not_ be doing this here, but Sehun’s mouth is twisting into a smirk with anticipation, and Jongin looks fucking delectable when he’s authoritative.  
  
“Shall I demonstrate?”  
  
A rap at the door interrupts them.  
  
Sehun takes a step back and clears his throat.  
  
“Sehun,” Heechul says, frowning over his clipboard. “You’re needed downstairs.”  
  
“Yeah,” Sehun says. He gets this sinking feeling in his gut as he leaves the room, as Heechul turns to Jongin with a hard look etched on his face.  
  
After helping downstairs, Sehun returns to his cubicle, pulls out his phone.  
  
He taps out a quick text to Jongin: _sorry. what did heechul say_  
  
Jongin’s supposed to be in a meeting but he replies within minutes. _Nothing. Irritated but seemed distracted, asked about Italy._ _  
__  
__does he know you’re taking me_ _  
__  
_ A second later, Jongin sends another two texts in a row.  
  
_It doesn’t matter. Will tell you more in person._ _  
__Who were you texting during meeting?_ _  
__  
__luhan_ _  
__were u jealous?_ _  
__  
__Do I need to be?_ _  
__  
__no_ _  
__he’s throwing smth tonight_ _  
__do you want to go?_ _  
__  
__Do you want me to?_ _  
__  
__if u want_ _  
__i was gonna make smth to bring so im going home earlier than usual_ _  
__  
__That’s fine. I can meet you at Luhan’s._ _  
__  
__aren’t u in a meeting_ _  
__  
__Waiting. Junmyeon running late._ _  
__Aren’t you supposed to be working?_ _  
__  
_ Sehun sends the barfing emoji then turns off his phone. Work awaits.  
  
  
  
When Sehun knocks on Luhan’s door several hours later, he has a tray of date and maple butter tarts in hand. “Hi,” he says when Minseok opens the door. “Can I come in?”  
  
“Only if you give me a tart first,” Minseok grins, swinging the door wide open. “Jongin’s already here.”  
  
“Really?”  
  
“Yeah,” Minseok says. “I brought Yifan -- remember him? I met him on that business trip and he works like thirty minutes away from here -- ”  
  
“Yeah, I remember.”  
  
“Yeah, he knows Jongin apparently. They met through work last year or something. They’re talking right now, and Luhan’s trying to make kimbap.”  
  
Luhan’s humming to a song and rolling up kimbap while Yifan and Jongin sit by the countertop, engaged in conversation. Jongin looks up and breaks into this dumb grin when he sees Sehun; he waves cutely and Sehun rolls his eyes but waves back, trying to stop from smiling.  
  
They eat and talk; everything’s domestic and sweet. Jongin sits to Sehun’s left and Luhan sits to Sehun’s right. It’s a bit crowded -- Luhan’s elbow keeps brushing Sehun’s, and Jongin drops his hand on Sehun’s thigh more than several times -- but it’s fun and comfortable. Yifan seems to be doing well but Sehun only talks to him for a bit before Minseok drags Yifan and Jongin into a heated conversation about taxes or something. Corporate workers, _honestly_. Sehun gives them a bottle of wine -- because, alcoholics, and Jongin knowingly pecks him on the cheek in thanks -- before grabbing two beers for him and Luhan.  
  
They escape the conversation about tax evasion and fraud by heading to the sitting room.  
  
“So Jongin and I are going to Italy for a week for vacation,” Sehun says, cracking open his beer.  
  
Luhan makes a noise of betrayal. He takes a swing from his beer and says: “I have two -- no, I have three things to say to that. Firstly, I’ve been friends with you since high school, and I still cannot believe you can fucking say things like that with a straight face.”  
  
Sehun rolls his eyes and takes a sip of beer.  
  
“Secondly, what the fuck? That’s some _prime_ sugar daddy material, I mean he’s taking you across the world for vacation, drives you to work, _and_ has a big dick -- ”  
  
_Smack_! Sehun swats Luhan’s leg. “Shut _up,_ ” Sehun hisses, “And stop fucking talking about his big dick. You know I hate it when you -- ”  
  
“And third,” Luhan interrupts dramatically, wiping his mouth of beer froth with the back of his sleeve. Disgusting. “Thank _God_.”  
  
“... talk about -- ” Sehun frowns. “What?”  
  
“Every time I see you, you’re either worried about an upcoming deadline or planning for a project or saving thousands of dollars in Excel. You work too much! You and Jongin both. If there’s one bad thing about your relationship, it’s the fact that you’re both workaholics.” Luhan shakes his head. “I’m surprised you haven’t dropped dead yet.”  
  
“It’s called productivity,” Sehun sniffs. He feels a little proud, which probably says a lot about his fucked up priorities.  
  
“Yeah,” Luhan snorts, “It’s also known as stressing yourself out to the point where you develop aneurysms and drink enough to contract a liver disease.”  
  
“Luhan,” Sehun says, completely unbothered, “You’ve been watching too many medical dramas.”  
  
“They’re fun to watch!” Luhan defends himself. “Anyway, I’m just glad you’re taking time off.” He pats Sehun’s knee. “You deserve it.”  
  
They chat a bit more, Luhan telling Sehun about plans to renovate his kitchen and Sehun talking a bit about a new computer he wants to get, before Jongin comes wandering in.  
  
Luhan asks Jongin about work and the three of them talk politely before Luhan excuses himself to get another beer.  
  
“Brought you a tart,” Jongin says, offering one to Sehun.  
  
Sehun nibbles on it delicately. It’s pretty good: the crust is flaky, and the filling is mellow and dulcet, slightly chewy and gooey and molten with maple syrup and brown sugar. “Did you have one yet?”  
  
“Yeah,” Jongin takes a seat next to Sehun, close enough so that their thighs are pressed together. “They’re delicious.” He leans forward and opens his mouth, wanting a piece of the tart.  
  
Sehun feeds him a bite and Jongin moans exaggeratedly, licking his lips and smirking as he chews, wildly suggestive. Sehun swats his cheek lightly.  
  
“I got you something,” Sehun says abruptly.  
  
Jongin smacks his lips. “Oh?”  
  
Sehun opens his phone and pulls up an email confirmation he’d received that morning. Something delicate flutters in Sehun’s chest, inside his ribcage, as he swallows nervously. “It’s not anything -- big, like I can’t take you to the Bahamas, or anything, but… ”  
  
Jongin looks confused as he reads the email, but his face soon clears.  
  
“This is,” he starts. His lips part. “You did this for me?”  
  
Sehun shrugs, self-conscious. “I know it’s not a lot, but I found it online. Thought you’d like it.”  
  
Sehun had stumbled upon the old ballet academy a few days ago, when he’d been stuck with some code and was reading about the origins of ballet in Italy during a break.  
  
If Wikipedia is to be trusted, Italian courts during the Renaissance were actually the birthplace of ballet. Sehun had rented a few hours at this studio within the academy, through a program meant for adult ballet dancers.  
  
“It’s close to where we’re staying,” Jongin says softly, his face lit gently by the blue light of Sehun’s phone.  
  
“Yeah,” Sehun says. After a second, he goes, “I don’t think your father was wrong. But I don't think he was completely right either. You may not be able to support yourself with dancing but,” Sehun shrugs, “I don’t think that means you can’t still enjoy it.” He wipes his hands on his pants. “Anyway, that’s what I wanted to say to you, before Junmyeon called a few nights ago. If you want to go when we go to Italy, I can take you there. I’ll walk around Milan while you can talk with the teachers there.”  
  
“Yeah,” Jongin croaks. He clears his throat and hands the phone back hastily. He wipes his face and Sehun shifts uncomfortably. “Thank you.”  
  
Sehun squeezes Jongin’s hand and Jongin darts in for a kiss. His wet eyelashes brush against Sehun’s cheek. Sehun kisses him as gently as he can. Not for the first time, Sehun wishes he were more comfortable with communicating his emotions.  
  
Anyway, then Minseok comes in and ruins the moment by waving a bottle of French rosé pilfered from Luhan’s extensive collection, no doubt.  
  
Luhan and Yifan join them in the sitting room and they all have a light drink; by then, Jongin’s laughing along with Minseok and Luhan while Yifan is angling for a conversation, which Sehun obliges, so Sehun figures he can’t have fucked up too badly. Jongin refuses to let go of Sehun’s hand for the rest of the night.  
  
They all part ways amicably a few hours later, Yifan leaving first on account of a report that needs to be done, and Minseok because of an early flight back to China the next day. Jongin and Sehun are last to go. Luhan gives them each a tight hug before shoving them, quite literally, out the door.  
  
“Well,” Jongin says quietly when Luhan’s front door shuts behind them. “I parked up that way,” Jongin gestures to one end of the street.  
  
“I’m over there,” Sehun points to the other end of the street.  
  
“Let me walk you to your car,” Jongin says.  
  
The night is cold and crisp. Not a single cloud mars the sky. As they walk, their shoes crunch on gravel underfoot. Their breaths cloud.  
  
Sehun’s elbow brushes Jongin’s as they walk. “Penny for your thoughts.”  
  
Jongin kicks a stray pebble. It clatters loudly, coming to a stop a few meters away. “I like you.”  
  
Sehun can’t stop the faint smile. “I like you too.”  
  
They reach Sehun’s car.  
  
“Good night,” Sehun says, pulling out his keys. His smile widens.  
  
“Good night,” Jongin says. He reaches up. His touch is chaste, like a child’s, when he brushes his thumb against Sehun’s lip.  
  
Sehun drives home with the taste of rosé and Jongin on his tongue.  
  
  
  
\---  
  
  
  
“We fly Korean Air,” Sehun reads off his laptop, “Stop in Moscow.”  
  
Jongin makes a noise of acknowledgement. Lunchtime -- they’re in his office, going over travel plans to Italy to take their minds off the mountain of workload waiting for them. “Long flight,” he comments.  
  
There’s a rap on the door and Sehun switches over to an Excel spreadsheet.  
  
“Come in.”  
  
Heechul swings the door open before the second word is out of Jongin’s mouth. The door slams shut behind him.  
  
Jongin frowns. “What’s going on?”  
  
“You,” Heechul hisses, stalking forward and jabbing a finger at Jongin’s chest. “I told you from the beginning not to get involved -- ”  
  
“Sehun,” Jongin interrupts, turning away from Heechul. He prays that outwardly he seems calm, because inside, his throat feels like it’s turned to wet clay, weak and unwieldy. “Give us a minute.”  
  
“He stays,” Heechul says brusquely, his eyes not leaving Jongin. “He deserves to know.”  
  
Jongin avoids Sehun’s sharp gaze. “What’s going on?” Jongin repeats.  
  
“I know it wasn’t your fault to begin with, but I’m getting us out while we can. Cancel all transactions and end all communications. I don’t care if it’s suspicious, I don’t want to be involved with them anymore.”  
  
“What’s this about?” Sehun says curtly.  
  
Heechul turns around. “EXO. Sound familiar?”  
  
Sehun narrows his eyes and inclines his head for Heechul to continue.  
  
“Why don’t you explain?” Heechul turns to Jongin with a cold smile. “Tell him, Jongin. Tell him about the system.”  
  
Jongin ignores Heechul’s gaze and looks Sehun in the eye. “Do you remember the first night,” Jongin starts, praying that Sehun will be patient -- Jongin had meant to explain everything, like Sehun had asked, but now is not the ideal time, and he should’ve explained far, far earlier, “The first night we met?”  
  
“Yes,” Sehun says. His expression is flat.  
  
“I asked you to call me Jongin. My nametag said Kai.”  
  
Sehun says tightly, “I remember.”  
  
Hurriedly, Jongin continues. “When EXO does business, every constituent remains anonymous. Every person who works with them receives a code name. Yifan -- Yifan goes by Kris.”  
  
Sehun’s hands curl into fists.  
  
“Every transaction is anonymous, and no one is allowed to reveal what company they represent, or whose funds -- whether they be private or public, illegal or legal -- they are using. No one knows anything about each other, and if you recognize someone, you still don’t have leverage, because you don’t know what kind of money they’re using.”  
  
“Anonymity is the only thing that EXO can offer its constituents,” Heechul adds. “And I’m here to tell you that that anonymity does not exist.”  
  
“I’ve already begun to take everything out,” Jongin directs to Heechul, “I told you already -- I’ll be finished in three weeks, after a meeting in Tokyo -- ”  
  
“Too late. Someone on the inside, from EXO, has been keeping tabs on everyone. All of the deals -- every name and every bit of money transferred -- has been archived, since EXO was founded.”  
  
Jongin’s breath catches. This is exactly why he had begun withdrawing from EXO, why he’s been traveling nonstop, trying to extract the company from every crevice that Siwon had wormed them into. He had a feeling -- a _gut_ feeling -- that everything would be yanked away from him; every good thing he’s touched --  
  
“How?” Sehun interrupts tartly.  
  
Heechul whirls around. “What?”  
  
“How do you know?”  
  
“Does it matter?”  
  
“It does.” Sehun counters firmly.  
  
“Yifan told me,” Heechul says, turning his gaze back to Jongin, “Found out this morning when one of his pen-testers found a virus in their system. Someone’s been collecting all of their deals -- the ones that were meant to be hidden, but apparently weren’t. Yifan told our guys what to look for. Found the bug in our files fifteen minutes ago. Every transfer is in their hands. Whoever they are.”  
  
“Whoever they are,” Sehun narrows their eyes, “They aren’t done. You found the bug, correct? They were listening on a back door?”  
  
Heechul parts his lips, clearly unsure of what to think of Sehun. “Yes,” he answers after a slight pause. “They created one that wasn’t noticeable.”  
  
“They were still collecting information,” Sehun says tensely, “And you eradicated the vulnerability?”  
  
“Of course, who do you think -- ”  
  
“Well, now they _know_ ,” Sehun hisses. “They know that we know.”  
  
Heechul splutters. “What?”  
  
“Sehun,” Jongin says. Jongin can’t think -- he’s -- everything comes flashing back to him: Sehun’s sixteen character password, his firewalls and vehement rants about security -- there’s too much to remember, but all Jongin can think is: _Sehun was right_.  
  
“Think about it,” Sehun says tightly, “The first step is reconnaissance. EXO goes into each system, some way, somehow -- your transfers must be visible, vulnerable, whatever -- and establishes access. In this case, creating a backdoor. They lie low, but once they get what they want, hackers will always cover up their tracks. Their tracks were _not covered_ , they were still collecting data, which means -- ”  
  
“They weren’t finished,” Jongin says; his voice sounds like he’s underwater, he can’t be -- he can’t control this, he should’ve known _better_ \-- “We stopped them mid-operation, they were going to continue collecting data -- as, as blackmail, or as insurance… collateral -- ”  
  
“Who is _they,”_ Heechul demands.  
  
“Does it matter?” Sehun snaps.  
  
“Doesn’t matter. Could be anyone. We’ll never know. They lost the collateral,” Jongin rasps, hoarsely. “They’ve -- ”  
  
“They’ve lost the entire fucking operation,” Sehun says. “So they’ll protect themselves by putting the attention somewhere else.”  
  
All of it, Jongin thinks -- trying to leave without bringing the whole operation down, extracting their funds slowly and inconspicuously -- and for what? Once his name (along with Siwon’s) is found among the list of names involved with their dealings, the company is inevitably ruined, despite Jongin’s intentions.  
  
“They’re going to expose all of the names,” Jongin says, staring at his desk, unseeing. “I know them -- I’ve worked with them. If everything goes online, there’ll be no way to tell the difference between bystanders or perpetrators, buyers or sellers. Every person’s name, every company signature on that list is guilty. The whistleblower will never be found.”  
  
A shocked silence rings through the room.  
  
Jongin -- Jongin can’t fucking _breathe_ \-- this is everything to him, this is literally his life: ever since he stuffed his ballet shoes into the attic after he finished Swan Lake.  
  
(And how _stupid_ , how fucking _stupid he was_ , to think that giving that up would ever, ever make him happy; what’s worse is that he thought, when Sehun had presented him that email last night with reservations for the Italian ballet company, he actually had the _temerity_ to think that he could have that part of him back. He will never have that back.)  
  
Heechul says: “When do you leave for Italy?”  
  
“Next week,” Sehun says slowly, looking from Heechul to Jongin. “Why?”  
  
“Book the next fucking flight. Tell Kris to get to Canada. Get out of here before reporters can hound you, otherwise you’ll never be able to leave your house again. Wait until this whole thing clears up before even thinking about coming back.” Heechul looks between the two of them. He looks between the two of them, opens his mouth to say something, then shuts it with a decisive snap. “You better start packing.”  
  
“Pick me up from my house in two hours,” Sehun says to Jongin, standing up and leaving without so much as a twitch. Jongin wishes he were easier to read. If they had time -- and God, isn’t that a cliche? -- if they had time, Jongin would run after and get on his knees and apologize, over and over and over again, but Sehun’s out the door before Jongin can even stand up.  
  
“Not your fault,” Heechul says gruffly, crossing his arms. “You did the best you could.”  
  
“I should have told him,” Jongin croaks. “I should have told him everything before -- ”  
  
“How much did he know? Before this?”  
  
“Just that I was getting out of the whole thing.” Jongin drops his head in his hands and resolutely does not cry. “ _Jesus_ , I don’t -- I should have told him, and I should’ve been more _careful_ \-- ” Jongin thinks: now I’m going to lose Sehun and the company and _everything_ \--  
  
“Hey,” Heechul shakes Jongin’s shoulder firmly. “It’ll be okay. Just lie low. And take care of yourself. You did nothing wrong, and all we have to do is show that. I won’t lie, the first few days will be messy, but once everyone sorts through this, we’ll know that you were not the one who brought the company into EXO. You only tried getting us out.”  
  
Jongin shudders.  
  
  
  
One hour and fifty-five minutes later, Jongin peels into Sehun’s driveway. His packed bags are in his trunk. His sunglasses are on. His hands tremble.  
  
The front door swings open and Jongin hastily exits his Mustang to help Sehun with his bags.  
  
“You don’t have to come,” is the first thing out of Jongin’s mouth. “God, I’m sorry, you shouldn’t have been dragged into this -- your name isn’t in those files -- you have no reason to… to _run_ \-- ”  
  
Sehun meets Jongin’s gaze. Sehun frowns. “You don’t want me to come?”  
  
“You -- ” Jongin trails off. He feels untethered. He --  
  
Sehun drops his bag on the driveway. He reaches up and takes off Jongin’s sunglasses. “Are you okay?” Sehun steps close, peering at Jongin. “Jongin -- ”  
  
“You aren’t upset?”  
  
Sehun cups his hand around Jongin’s ear. “Why would I be upset?”  
  
“I didn’t tell you -- ”  
  
“You thought I was upset?”  
  
“That I didn’t tell you everything about EXO -- I was going to, I was -- ”  
  
“Jongin, all that matters is that you tried your best to get the company out of that mess. Jisoo told me -- it wasn’t your fault to begin with. You were handed a disaster and had to deal with it. I wouldn’t -- I’m not angry with you.”  
  
“Oh,” Jongin says.  
  
“You find out that all of your company’s secrets are going to be released and the first thing you worry about is me being upset?”  
  
Jongin’s heart lurches. “I -- ”  
  
“You know,” Sehun says, his voice uncharacteristically high, “I think I may actually be developing those aneurysms Luhan was talking about.”  
  
Before Jongin can figure out what the actual fuck is going on, Sehun’s kissing him. Jongin’s brain has whiplash but Sehun’s -- Sehun’s _not mad_ \--  
  
“We’ll be okay,” Sehun says, smiling gently at Jongin when he pulls back.  
  
Jongin clutches desperately at Sehun’s shirt, his waist, holding on. “But -- if this doesn’t -- ”  
  
“We’ll stay in Italy,” Sehun says firmly. “I’ll find a job and we’ll never come back to Korea again.” Sehun touches Jongin’s cheek. “Stop worrying, idiot. We’ll get through this, together.”  
  
Jongin can only close his eyes and pray that Sehun is right.

**Author's Note:**

> Sehun’s red bean brioche recipe can be found [here](http://tworedbowls.com/2014/04/21/red-bean-brioche/), and his date tarts [here](http://tworedbowls.com/2015/11/04/date-maple-butter-tarts/). Cybersecurity is important! :^)


End file.
